


it's a tank top, david

by schittyfic (sixtysevenlmpala)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: (gratuitous objectification of), Dirty Talk, Dramatic David Rose, Hot Weather, Husbands, M/M, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Post-Canon, Riding, tank tops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/schittyfic
Summary: “Is that an issue?” Patrick grins, amused, whipping the cap off to swipe the sweat from his brow before replacing it. Helovesit when he wears something David hates, and this time it wasn’t even on purpose. He gestures down at himself; his arms are on show, still pale (although with a frustrating pink t-shirt line from yesterday) and a little toned, muscles standing out as he braces himself on the metal handle of the mower. The tank top dips low, a patch of fair chest hair catching the sunlight, scattered moles and freckles which aren’t usually on show now peeking out. It clings to his pecs and there’s a small triangle of sweat down the middle of his chest, a darker grey against the light, loose fabric. “I thought it was a good look.”“Um. No. That’s not. That - why do you evenownthis?” David sputters, looking positively outraged.“...For heatwaves?”Or: Patrick wears a tank top and David feels some things about it.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 52
Kudos: 257





	it's a tank top, david

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/gifts).



> A very quick and un-edited prompt fill for yourbuttervoicedbeau: "Several years into their marriage, David suddenly realises he has a real Thing for Patrick in a tank top. Trolling ensues."
> 
> This is. Kind of that? Idk. Enjoy. <3

Schitt’s Creek is in the middle of a record-breaking heatwave, and Patrick really is not made for it. His vaguely Gaelic ancestry means he’s sporting a permanent blush of red across his cheekbones and nose despite smothering himself in sunscreen, and all of his usual tight-jeans-buttoned-up-shirt combos are just far too constricted; he could barely breathe the other day in the store. Of course, today’s also the day David’s wheedled him into mowing the lawn - how have they been married almost five years and David can still wind him around his little finger like that?

Already sweating through his plain white tee, Patrick rummages begrudgingly through the very bottom of his drawers, the discarded choices he barely ever remembers he has, let alone wears. He doesn’t care what it looks like - he just wants to be _cool_. Finally, he grabs onto something thin and airy, tugs it on in place of the t-shirt, and heads through the house, grabbing an ice-cold beer out of the fridge on his route. David groans something unintelligible as Patrick passes by him from his position sprawled out on the couch, with a grand total of three electric fans pointing directly at him. Patrick drops a kiss onto his forehead, tasting salt and catching a whiff of coconut from his hair, and David doesn’t even open his eyes to look at him.

“I’m _dying_ ,” David moans, and Patrick snorts as he heads out.

“So who the hell am I mowing the grass for, then?”

Another dramatic groan and a weary middle finger waving at him, and Patrick chuckles as he shoves a baseball cap onto his head and wrangles the mower into action. 

The sun’s beating down on his shoulders and his neck, kissing the freckles which have popped up darker over the last week, and slowly turning him a warm, glowing pink as he works around the lawn in a methodical back-and-forth. Sweat rolls down the back of his neck from the damp curls peeking out from under the cap, and he can feel the fabric of his top clinging to his back. He mostly lets David get away with talking him into this because he doesn’t mind the job - he likes the tangible results, likes watching things get neater and neater, and he loses himself in the repetitive motions of it for a while.

“Honey, I’m not even kidding, I think I might be getting a heatstroke or - I’m sorry. What in the living _fuck_ are you wearing?”

Patrick switches off the mower and shields his eyes to see David standing with his hands on his hips at the open French doors, gaping at him with a difficult-to-read look on his face. Patrick glances down at himself. “It’s a tank top, David.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Is that an issue?” Patrick grins, amused, whipping the cap off to swipe the sweat from his brow before replacing it. He _loves_ it when he wears something David hates, and this time it wasn’t even on purpose. He gestures down at himself; his arms are on show, still pale (although with a frustrating pink t-shirt line from yesterday) and a little toned, muscles standing out as he braces himself on the metal handle of the mower. The tank top dips low, a patch of fair chest hair catching the sunlight, scattered moles and freckles which aren’t usually on show now peeking out. It clings to his pecs and there’s a small triangle of sweat down the middle of his chest, a darker grey against the light, loose fabric. “I thought it was a good look.”

“Um. No. That’s not. That - why do you even _own_ this?” David sputters, looking positively outraged.

“...For heatwaves?”

David stares at him for a few long, long seconds, his gaze dragging over every inch of the top half of his body, evaluating and, Patrick supposes, heavily judging. Patrick’s already wondering how long he can spin this out for, how many times he can wear a tank top just to see David cringe and grimace and moan about it being _incorrect._

Patrick strolls casually towards him, grabbing his beer from the outside table and swigging from it obnoxiously as David watches him. “What’s the matter, David? You seem bothered by something.”

David waves a hand in a wide circle in front of Patrick’s body. “Okay - _all_ of this. No. This is not acceptable. I - okay. I have to - it’s too hot out here, I’m going inside,” David rambles, fluttering his hands a little more before hurriedly retreating.

Patrick throws his head back on a delighted laugh, calling after him, “I can’t believe my husband doesn’t like my outfit!”

*

When Patrick comes back inside a little later, David’s on the couch with a book. He’s changed to an entirely different set of drop-crotch shorts and t-shirt (Patrick’s learned that during a heatwave, David Rose requires a _minimum_ of three outfit changes per day), and looks freshly showered and relatively cool. Patrick’s almost jealous, the tank-top now practically soaked through and clinging to his body, a sheen of sunscreen and sweat coating his skin, along with a fair amount of loose grass cuttings which somehow got stuck to him along the way. He throws off the cap and runs a hand through his hair, tousling it out of the hat shape, but it’s flicking out in all directions in this heat.

“Lawn’s done,” he says unnecessarily, mostly just to get David to look at him. He’s successful, and Patrick can’t hide his glee when David’s face pulls into an uncomfortable grimace, glancing at the offending tank top once again.

“Lovely,” David comments breathily, arching his eyebrows.

“You know, I never truly realised the benefits of a tank top,” Patrick muses, tapping the rim of the empty beer bottle against his pursed lips. “It’s so light and airy. So much cooler than a t-shirt, even.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I might start wearing them more often.”

“A bold choice.”

“Maybe I’ll wear one to the store tomorrow. It’s always so stuffy in there.”

David is pressing his lips together so hard Patrick thinks they might just _pop_ right out of existence. Patrick hides a grin behind the bottle.

“Maybe I’ll go shopping and buy one for each day of the week, so I’ll never have to--”

“Oh my _god!”_ David barks out, snapping his book shut and standing up impatiently. He then looks like he doesn’t know why he stood up, so he just flaps his arms awkwardly, scowling at Patrick. “This is _so unfair_.”

“What is? You don’t like it?” Patrick’s eyes are wide and innocent.

“No, it’s - it’s unfair that you’re wearing that and I want to fuck you extremely hard in it and it’s too _fucking hot to do that_ , so it’s not _fair._ ”

Patrick blinks. “What?”

David puffs out his cheeks, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You’re going to drive me insane!”

“This turns you on?!” Patrick laughs, because that is _even better_ than David hating it.

David’s speechless for a minute, just huffing at him dramatically. Patrick sets down the bottle on the counter and makes his way over to David, stepping into his space and squeezing his hips lightly. “It - okay, it’s a crime against fashion and it should be burned, but - you look. Very hot.”

“Well,” Patrick says lightly. “You should have said. You can fuck me in it right now if you want.”

“Patrick.” It’s an actual whine. “It’s too _hot._ I’ll _die_.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Patrick leans in and bites at his ear, and grins when David’s hands skim up the back of the tank top, where it’s stuck to his back. “I suppose your long-suffering husband who just did hours of manual labour could do all the work for you.”

“But. You’re all sweaty and gross. I just - got clean,” David mumbles, breath hitching as Patrick presses a hand to his crotch without any preamble, and yep, he’s already hard. Patrick wonders if he’s been hard since he first saw Patrick mowing the lawn.

“We’ll just have to dirty you up again.”

*

Patrick sinks down onto David’s cock, bracing his hands on the back of the couch either side of David’s head, his arms flexing as he uses the grip to roll himself back and forth in David’s lap. “Fuck - fuck, fuck,” David gasps out, grabbing at Patrick’s ass, then letting his hands wander up under the tank top. It’s the only thing Patrick’s wearing now, and David’s gorgeously naked beneath him, clothes scattered around them after the frantic rush to get to right here.

David’s hands reach his nipples and pinch hard, and Patrick moans, grinding down a little firmer and shuddering when David’s cock slips inside all the way, pressing hard and deep. He feels scorching inside of him, and the heat between them is almost suffocating, beads of sweat tracing down his spine and trickling down David’s neck.

“You look so good. Love seeing so much of you - your chest, your fucking _arms,_ for fuck’s sake, I wanted to bend you over and fuck you as soon as I saw you. Wanted to fuck you right there in the garden, don’t care who would’ve seen.”

Patrick whimpers, stuck for words, frantically nodding as he rides him.

“God, look at that, you can see just how much you’ve sweat - so fucking dirty, Patrick, it’s so hot.” David starts fucking up into him in abortive little thrusts as he leans forward and buries his face in the darker triangle of fabric on Patrick’s chest, biting at him through the tank and moaning around the musky taste of him. 

Patrick sinks his fingers into David’s hair and keeps him pressed there, and David moans eagerly, mouth meandering to the left and catching onto one of his nipples through the shiny fabric, perked and hardened by David’s fingers. He shoots Patrick a devilish grin through his eyelashes before he deliberately rolls it between his teeth, making Patrick cry out and rock his hips faster. It’s intense - the sharp sting of pain laced with the almost-soothing, silky glide of the tank top. “Do it again,” he gasps, and David does, bites and licks and _sucks_ at it.

Patrick’s thighs are burning from the mowing but he doesn’t care, throwing himself into a punishing rise-fall as he takes what he needs from David’s cock, and David follows perfectly, hips pulsing up and up and up to meet him each time. His mouth is latched to Patrick’s chest, teasing the other nipple now, his hands fisted in the fabric at Patrick’s back and yanking it tight so every line of his pecs is visible through it. 

Patrick’s hand flies on his cock and he’s coming fast and intense, painting the light grey tank top with streaks of white, and David _whines_ at the sight of it, muttering, “Oh my fucking _god_ ,” as he slams into Patrick three more times before coming deep inside him.

They stay there for God knows how long, panting and positively disgusting with sweat and come and lube, until eventually Patrick wrenches himself off of David and collapses next to him. He peels the tank top off, throwing it carelessly onto the floor, where David eyes it like a poisonous snake.

“That thing is fucking evil.”

“Oh, so you don’t want me to keep it?”

David purses his lips, quiet for a moment. “I’ll consider it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. They had lube stashed in the couch cushions, okay?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! As always, please do leave a kudos/comment if you liked, it makes my day.
> 
> <3


End file.
